Causatum
by cynicalspring
Summary: Lydia's life has gone back to normal, but can she stomach it? A short one-shot that takes place right after the film. T for death & swearing.


The cheerful tones of Harry Belafonte faded away as Lydia climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She could hear Barbara's proud gushing as she told Charles about how well his daughter had done on the Math test over Adam & Delia fighting over wallpaper patterns. She shut the door to her room to block out the noise of the happy all-be-it raucous household.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as her shoulders slumped and she shucked off her cardigan, changed her clothing, and plopped down on her antique canopy bed, letting the depressing mediocrity wash over her like so many waves on a battered shore. It had been this way for several uneventful months. Her family seemed genuinely happy after the craziness had settled. Too happy to notice she was just going through the motions, keeping up a façade of contented normalcy so nobody could see the malaise underneath.

The merry baseline and upbeat tempo of calypso music started to bleed through the floor of her bedroom, and she could hear the laughter of her corporeal and ethereal parents. Just another boring happy Friday afternoon in the Deetz-Maitland household. Sitting up, eyes narrowing in disgust, Lydia absent mindedly twisted the ring on her left hand and decided then that today would be the day. She couldn't take another moment of stifling ennui. It had to end.

She pulled the pre-tied noose out from under her pillow and slung one end over the poster at the left handed foot of her bed, and she slid the other end over her head gulping nervously as she tightened the noose. Lydia's body twisted lithely along the outside edge of the poster so it was at her back with both of her feet straddling the wood, her arms behind her hugging the vertical beam of ornately carved wood. Slowly she let her heels release their purchase on the corner of the mattress, and quietly the life choked out of her.

* * *

The Ghoul was seated on an old and clinical looking sofa in the lime green waiting room. It was finally empty save for the ocean blue priss of a receptionist with the gaudy red hair who was snapping her gum as loud as she possibly could. He marveled at how she managed to be even more annoying than that infernal ticking clock on the wall.

He'd bet dollars to dung beetles that Juno had paid the bitch to be extra obnoxious while she kept him waiting extra long. Just like that old hag too. His mind wandered to one of a million ways to make her life a living hell, but he wasn't one to tempt fate where Juno was concerned, especially when he knew he was already up to his neck in hot water for the stunt he pulled at the Deetz home. He was so close to freedom that time he could taste it… fucking Maitland broad. He'd have to lay low for a while after the shit he just pulled, and he had nothing to show for it.

_Them's the breaks, I guess._ he thought to himself as he sighed and conjured a cigarette from thin air. He placed the sweet smelling stick between his pale lips and snapped. A flame ignited from his thumb as he puffed the cigarette, coaxing it alive, and he shook the flame on his hand out as he took a long, appreciative drag. Suddenly he was very aware of how alone with his thoughts he was, and he quickly turned his mind toward something a little less introspective & a little more lascivious. Maybe those holes in Miss Argentina's wrists had another use...

* * *

The quiet of the waiting room was shattered as the door swung open and smacked against the wall opposite it's hinges, calling the attention of the only two current occupants. The diminutive young woman took a tentative step into the room and looked around. He recognized her immediately. Her inky black hair pulled up in messy but stylish fashion, a vintage but comfortable black knee length dress hugging her frame in all the right places… He couldn't help but smirk at the black and white striped socks peeking just above her polished mary janes. Apparently he had rubbed off on her… He raked his eyes over her, thinking things that would make a prostitute blush, until his eyes fell on her neck. The lace choker did little to hide the bruising from the rope.

Something akin to disappointment and sadness flashed over his face. His emerald eyes lifted to meet her face. He studied her doe eyes as he took another drag from his cigarette. He exhaled as he leaned forward, lazily ashing his cigarette on to the dingy carpet. He considered her for another moment before asking…

"Why?"

The faint hint of a smile crossed her lips as she took a seat next to him on his right. He looked at her quizzically as she turned his hand over and slid her fingers between his. He closed his hand around hers and his eyes went wide with surprise as he felt the cold metallic band on her ring finger. She smiled knowingly up at him and squeezed his hand but didn't say a word.

The ghoul's grinned widened as his expression took on an air of mischief, flirting dangerously with malevolence. He leaned his face in close to hers and in a barely audible raspy voice whispered:

"It's Showtime."


End file.
